


London Underground

by messageredacted



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme Prompt: <i>Sherlock is groped/molested in public. Not in a sexy/with his partner way.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	London Underground

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on 17 August 2010.

The Tube is crowded at this time of day as everyone rushes home from work. Sherlock manages to grab a strap overhead to hang on, but John has to rely on the crush of people to keep him from toppling over every time they come to a station.

A mobile rings and the woman pressed up against John and Sherlock answers it. Sherlock lets out a sigh, his eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

“You don’t have to say anything,” John says through gritted teeth. “We’ll take a cab next time. I just thought we could save the money.”

The woman shoots John a glare and covers her ear. “What was that?” she says loudly into the phone. “I couldn’t hear you. There are people talking.”

Sherlock’s eyes shift to the woman and although his expression doesn’t change, John is pretty sure that Sherlock is plotting her murder.

“Maybe we could walk the rest of the way,” John says.

Sherlock draws breath to reply and then freezes, a look of astonishment crossing his face. He twists around, looking over his shoulder.

The car shifts as it slows. John bumps into the woman a little more forcefully than necessary and she nearly drops her mobile. They pull into the station and the doors ding as they open. There is a surge for the door. Sherlock lets go of the strap and turns fully around, then goes for the door as well. John, cursing, fights his way free of the press of people and manages to squeeze out of the car just before the doors close.

Sherlock is stopped halfway down the platform, looking around with a frown on his face. His pale eyes dart over the crowds streaming around him. People grumble as they squeeze around him but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“What happened?” John asks when he reaches him, looking around as well.

“Someone touched me,” Sherlock says, the tone of his voice putting the words on par with _someone knifed me in the back._

“Touched you?” John asked.

“Rubbed against me.” Sherlock enunciates the words. “With his—”

“You’re sure he got off?” John asks. Sherlock stares at him. “The _train_ ,” John adds hastily.

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock says darkly. His expression is a combination of distaste and cold anger. He abruptly turns for the stairs. John follows.

“You think he was a fan of yours?”

“Crowded train,” Sherlock says, shooting him a disgusted look as they climb the stairs. “Everyone has to press against each other so it’s hard to say that he’s doing it on purpose. He waited until we were nearly at the station to do it so he would have a quick escape. He’s certainly done it before. He probably does it often. Not a _fan_.”

They step out onto the street and start walking. Sherlock scans the streets as they walk. “You’re not going to find him now,” John says. “He’s probably long gone.”

Sherlock’s gaze sharpens and his stride lengthens. “Not quite,” he says. In five steps he has reached out and grabbed the back of the shirt of a man walking down the street. The man lets out a startled noise, his arms flailing as he tries to keep his balance.

“That was the best you could do?” Sherlock snaps, hauling the man around. The man’s eyes go very wide as he takes in Sherlock’s expression, obviously recognizing him.

“I don’t know what you’re—” he splutters.

“Short,” Sherlock says, possibly for John’s benefit. “Dressed as if he’s just come from an office job, but no creases to indicate he’s been sitting at a desk all day, so it’s most likely that he wears it to blend in with the crowd to deflect suspicion. Probably unemployed. I imagine you’d find a hole in his pocket for _easy access_.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” John says.

The man’s eyes slide from Sherlock to John and back again. “Let go of me or I’ll start shouting.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrow. “Do you know who I am?”

The man wordlessly shakes his head.

“I am Sherlock Holmes and I assure you that you chose the wrong victim tonight. I’m not going to demean myself by going to the police for this.”

Sherlock unclenches his fingers from the man’s shirt and wipes them distastefully on his shirt. A look of relief crosses the man’s face.

“I—” he starts.

“You live in that building,” Sherlock says, jerking his chin towards a building across the street. “You were reaching for your keys when I caught you. Third floor. Given the state of your fingernails, I’d say you have an occasional cocaine habit, and I’m sure the police will be far more interested in that. If I ever catch you preying on commuters again—and I assure you, _I will know_ —I will give them a call. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” the man says, his eyes very wide. “I swear, I’ll never do it again.” He backs up a few steps, and when they don’t pursue him, he turns and runs.

“I wonder if that scared any sense into him,” John says, watching him go. He glances at Sherlock as Sherlock pulls out his phone. “Who are you texting?”

“Lestrade,” Sherlock says succinctly. He raises an eyebrow at John. “Well of course he’s going to going to do it again. I thought I should let Lestrade know before the man tosses out all the incriminating evidence.”

John snorts a laugh and waits until Sherlock had put his phone away. They start walking again, slower this time. John sees Sherlock shudder discreetly.

“He must wish he picked a different victim,” John says.

“I certainly do.”

“You know, the fact that he’s a pervert doesn’t preclude him being a fan of yours,” John says thoughtfully.

“Shut up.” Sherlock shoves his phone back in his pocket. “The next time you have any idea to save money, _don’t_.” He turns towards the street. “Taxi!”


End file.
